One Night Page 2

  He kisses me and we return to the place we were at before; a wild frenzy of pure uncontrolled passion. Clothes get tossed aside, he grabs a condom, we make it to the bed, his body lowers over mine, and then...it's magic. Pure magic. I know it sounds over-the-top but it's the only way to describe it. You know that expression fits like a glove? Yeah, well, he fits me like a glove. And the way he moves, he hits just the right spot, over and over again until I'm swimming in a sea of pure bliss. Lost in a level of pleasure I didn't even know was possible.

  When it's over, he collapses at my side, breathing hard, his chest covered in sweat.

  "Holy shit," he mutters.

  He means it in a good way. He was groaning and moaning right along with me so I know it was just as amazing for him.

  "I'll be right back," he says, getting up and going to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. Thank goodness he had one. If he didn't, we would've had to stop ourselves, which would've been nearly impossible.

  While he's in there, I quickly put on my skirt and blouse, then wait there on the bed. I'm not sure what to do now. What's the protocol? Do we just go back to the party as if nothing happened?

  Dylan walks out of the bathroom and goes to the bedroom door.

  I sit up. "Are you leaving?"

  He turns to me, smiling. "You really think I'd walk out the door like this?"

  Noticing he's still naked, I smile back. "Guess not."

  "I just wanted to lock the door."

  "Oh. Okay." I lie back on the bed. So I guess we're staying, but why? Does he want to do it again? Is it still a one-night stand if you do it more than once? I should've consulted Megan about this. "Maybe we shouldn't be in here. Do you even know whose room this is?"

  "Kevin's. I know him from school." Dylan turns the bedside light on and goes to the closet and takes a blanket from the top shelf. It gives me an opportunity to check out his naked body. He's lean with muscles, but not too muscular. I don't like overly muscular guys. I prefer more of a lean, fit body, which is what Dylan has.

  "You go to Townsend?" I ask.

  "Yeah. Just finished my junior year."

  So he's a year older than me. I'm 20, almost 21, and should've just finished my sophomore year but I take classes every summer, so credit-wise, I'm classified as a junior. By December I'll be a senior, and hopefully I'll graduate by the end of next summer, a year early.

  Dylan puts his jeans on but leaves his t-shirt off, tossing it over the bedside lamp, leaving a soft glow in the room. Then he lies beside me and puts the blanket over us. So I guess we're going to cuddle? Or talk? I don't know what we're doing, but I'm glad he's not leaving. I'm not ready to say goodbye to him.

  "You sure Kevin's not going to mind that we're on his bed?" I ask.

  "He knows people come here and use it. That's what happens when you're hosting a party. Kevin's not even here tonight. He had to work the graveyard shift. He's a security guard at one of those gated communities." He turns onto his side and smiles. "So..."

  I flip to face him and smile back. "Yeah?"

  "What we just did? Pretty fucking amazing."

  "I thought so too."

  We gaze at each other, that pull, that connection, still so strong between us that it doesn't seem real. I feel this familiarity, like I know him, and yet I've never met him before.

  "I don't usually do that," I blurt out.

  "I don't either," he says.

  "You don't?" I ask, surprised. I assumed a guy as hot as him would do stuff like this all the time.

  "I've never hooked up with a girl right after meeting her." He smiles a little. "But don't tell anyone that. My friend thinks I do this all the time and if he found out I didn't, he'd give me shit about it."

  "You mean Kevin?"

  He laughs a little. "No. Kevin and I aren't that good of friends. I was talking about Van, my roommate. We've been friends since we were kids. We're both from Chicago and ended up staying here and going to the same college. We live in a house a few blocks away. We have a band."

  "You're in a band?" I sit up a little. "What do you play?"

  "Guitar. And I'm the lead singer."

  He's the lead singer in a band? And he's this hot? He must have girls constantly wanting to date him.

  "And you've never done this?" I ask, now doubting his comment.

  "No. I've had plenty of opportunities. I just chose not to take them."

  "Then why now? Why tonight?"

  He pauses, gazing at me as his hand lifts to the side of my face, resting behind my ear. "There was just something about you. I saw you across the room and...I don't know how to describe it. It was like there was this pull...something drawing me to you. You're gorgeous, so obviously there was that but there was something else." He sees me staring at him and chuckles. "I sound crazy, don't I?"

  I lightly shake my head. "No. Not at all. I felt the same way."

  "I kind of thought you did. This is going to sound even crazier but I could tell you were feeling the same way. It's almost like I could feel it. That's why I kissed you. I know I shouldn't have done that but it's like I couldn't stop myself. And then once I did I—"

  "Had to do it again," I say, finishing his thought. "Because it was like no kiss you'd ever had before. You had to do it again to make sure it was real."

  "Exactly," he says as he leans toward me.

  "It was perfect," I whisper, closing my eyes as I feel his warm breath over my mouth.

  "More than perfect," he whispers back, his lips brushing over mine.

  I suck in a breath, my whole body awakening as he kisses me. His hand cups the side of my head, then gently places it on the pillow as I lie back on the bed. He remains on his side, his hand moving down to my waist. He holds it there as he takes the kiss deeper, his tongue moving slow and deep in my mouth, mimicking the way his hips moved earlier when he was inside me. Then his hand moves to the top of my blouse and begins slowly unbuttoning it.

  He reaches the last button, then slides the fabric aside and I feel his warm hand brush over my skin. He stops suddenly. "You okay?"

  I open my eyes and see him looking at me with concern. His eyes are so expressive. So honest. Revealing so much.

  "I'm fine." I half smile. "Why?"

  "You're shaking," he says, gazing down at my chest, his finger moving slowly up the center.

  He's right. I'm trembling, not from fear, but from arousal. His touch has every nerve in my body responding.

  "It's you," I say, closing my eyes again. "When you touch me."

  His hand halts its movement. "You want me to stop?"

  "No." I arch into his hand. "Don't stop. I like it." I smile. "I want more."

  He leans down and kisses me and I feel his hand at my shoulder, slowly sliding my bra strap down. His lips trail down to my breast as his hand slides up my thigh under my skirt.

  My eyes are closed, head tipped back, my breaths ragged as he touches me, making me want him again. Once just wasn't enough.

  "Amber," I hear him say.

  I open my eyes and look at him. "What?"

  "Let's get out of here. Let's go back to my place. It's just a few blocks away."

  "I'd rather stay here," I say, pulling his face back to mine and kissing him. "I don't want to stop."

  I feel him smile against my lips. "Then we'll stay here."

  We do it again and it's just as magical. Pure bliss. Like there's something in the air, a full moon, or something else that's making this night unlike anything I'll ever experience again.

  Some would say I'm being overly dramatic but it's perfectly normal for me. I'm a hopeless romantic, emphasis on the hopeless. I want the fairy tale love story. Meeting someone at a bar is not my idea of a fairy tale. I want something more interesting than that. A story that's worth telling over and over again. An unexpected meeting. Fate intervening. Love at first sight. That type of thing.

  And when I date someone, I want romance. Real romance, not the modern day romance that's fast and hurried and imper
sonal. For instance, texting? Emails? Social media? All are perfectly fine modes of communication but none of them are romantic. When it comes to love, I'm old-fashioned. I want letters. Handwritten letters on nice paper with a good quality pen. And if I go out with a guy, I want him to hold my hand, open doors for me, be a gentleman.

  This is why I'm hopeless, because no man is ever going to write me letters and most guys my age aren't gentlemen, but I can still dream. After all, sometimes the universe surprises you, like tonight. Whatever's happening tonight is completely unexpected, unable to be explained. There's some cosmic force at work, causing everything to come together perfectly and make this night pure magic.

  "What are you thinking about?" Dylan asks as I lie in his arms under the blanket.

  "Letters," I say.

  He chuckles. "Letters? What do you mean?"

  "You know. Letters. You get a pen and paper and write down your thoughts."

  "Yeah." He chuckles again and gently rubs my arm. "I know what letters are. What about them?"

  "It's what I want. Handwritten letters like people used to write."

  "And who do you want to write you?"

  "The man I fall in love with," I say simply.

  He pauses, then says, "So will the letters be written before or after you're in love with him?"

  "Hmm. That's a good question." I ponder it a moment, then say, "It doesn't matter. No man will ever write me letters. It's more of a wish. A fairy tale. Did I mention I'm a hopeless romantic? I don't usually admit that because it's kind of embarrassing."

  "There's nothing wrong with being a hopeless romantic. I write love songs, so I guess in a way I'm one too."

  I lift my head from his chest. "You write songs?"

  "Yeah, but I never finish them. Van writes most of the songs for the band." He runs his fingers through the length of my hair, his gentle tugging feeling like a really good head massage. "So what else is in this fairy tale of yours?"

  I lie my head back down on his chest. "I want a gentleman. A guy who opens doors and sends flowers and goes on picnics and calls instead of texts. I prefer a phone call over a text. Why don't people call each other anymore?"

  "You can't find a guy who does those things?"

  "No. I'm pretty sure he doesn't exist, at least not in our age group."

  "I'd call you."

  "You say that, but eventually, you'd resort to texting. Everyone does. It's just our generation. It's how we grew up."

  "I call people all the time. I still text a lot, but I agree that sometimes it's better to call. And if a girl wanted me to call her instead of text, I'd do it. And for the record, I always open doors for girls. I've also sent flowers. I can't say I've arranged for a picnic but I'm sure I could figure it out. As for the letters, I've never actually written one but I'd be willing to try."

  Why is he saying this? Is he thinking this is going to last for more than one night? That we're going to start dating?

  No. I don't want that. I don't want to date him. This was supposed to be a one-night stand. The one crazy thing I did to prove to myself I can be spontaneous. Seize the day. Seize the moment. That's all this was supposed to be.

  And it ended up being beyond my wildest dreams. Not to be a broken record, but I'll say it again. Tonight was perfect. Everything about it. Seeing him across a crowded room. That kiss we shared before I even knew his name. Our hot make-out session in the hall, then our even hotter make-out session in this room. And the sex? Fireworks. Explosions. The type of sex you think doesn't exist until you actually have it.

  Tonight was a dream. A fantasy. A chance occurrence that can never be replicated. I'll be thinking about this night for the rest of my life. I'll store it in my memory and go back to it years from now. Dylan will be the handsome stranger I saw across a crowded room and instantly connected with to the point that we couldn't control our urges.

  If I were to date Dylan, he'd no longer be the handsome stranger. Tonight wouldn't be a magical encounter, but just sex in a frat house. And if Dylan and I became a couple and then broke up, my memory of tonight would be ruined. Tainted. I'd see it in a totally different light. That may sound crazy but it's true. When your opinion of someone changes, your memories of them do as well. What used to be good becomes not so good, or even bad. You remember it differently.

  I don't want to remember tonight differently. I want to remember it the way I do now. As a hot, sexy, perfect night with an extremely handsome stranger.

  "You still there?" Dylan asks since I haven't said anything.

  "Yeah." I push out of his arms and sit up. "I should go."

  "Go?" He sits up as well. "Why would you go?"

  "I have things to do."

  "It's one in the morning. What do you have to do at one in the morning?"

  "Take the dog out?" I cringe because that was probably the least convincing lie ever told.

  "Amber," he says, holding my hand. "What's wrong? What did I do to make you want to leave?"

  "You didn't. I just..." I take a breath. "I'm just not looking to get into a relationship right now."

  "It doesn't have to be a relationship. We can start slow. As slow as you want. I just want to see you again."

  I can't do it. I want to, but I can't. I won't. Tonight was one of those once-in-a-lifetime experiences and I'm not going to risk ruining the memory of it by dating Dylan. I don't have the best track record with relationships, probably because I expect too much. And then there's the fact that Dylan is the lead singer in a band so likely doesn't date a girl very long before moving on to the next.

  Whatever the reason, our relationship would eventually end and then this night would mean nothing, or worse, it would become a memory I'd want to forget.

  He tugs on my hand. "Come on. Lie down."

  "I have to go."

  "Please. Just stay with me. Just a little longer."

  Against my better judgment, I lie down and he holds me in his arms.

  "So tell me about yourself," he says.

  I panic, not wanting him to know about me. If he does, he'll track me down and insist we go out.

  "There's not much to say."

  "I'm sure you could come up with something. I know nothing about you other than your name. Are you in college?"

  Shit. What do I say?

  "Um...no, not anymore. I just graduated." I hate lying, but in this case, I feel like I have to. "And I already have a job lined up. It's in New York. I'm moving this week."

  The words come out of my mouth so fast I'm sure he'll know I'm lying. Plus, my rapid pulse is making me sound breathless, another sign I'm not telling the truth. I'm such a horrible liar.

  "You're moving?" he asks, lifting my face up to his.

  He actually believes me? Then I guess I'll guess go with it.

  "I got the job a few weeks ago."

  "In New York City?"

  "Yeah. It'll be a big change, but I'm looking forward to it."

  "Shit," he mutters, looking disappointed. "I mean, congratulations. That's great, but I was really hoping we could...well, I guess it doesn't matter, unless...would you try dating long distance?"

  "I don't think so. That never seems to work."

  "We could at least call each other. Stay in touch. Maybe the job won't pan out and you'll end up back in Chicago."

  He's so desperate to make this work. To at least try. And for just a moment, I'm tempted to do it, but then I change my mind. He's in a band. And he's hot. I'm sure girls are lining up to be with him. I can't imagine a relationship with him lasting more than a few weeks. And when it ends, the memory of tonight will no longer be magical, but tainted by our breakup.

  "Dylan, I'm sorry, but I can't. It just won't work."

  "At least take my number. If you change your mind, call me."

  I nod, but I won't be calling him. This was supposed to be one night so that's all it's going to be.

  "Even though you're leaving, I still want to know about you," he says. "So what's your major?"
>
  "Can we talk later?" I ask. "I'm really tired and I could use a little nap."

  "Sure." He looks into my eyes. "As long as you don't go."

  "I won't."

  He kisses me, just once, then lies on his back. I rest my head against his chest and he holds me in his arms. It's heaven. Sheer perfection. And just confirms that this night needs to remain a memory and nothing more than that.

  A night I will never forget.

  Chapter Three

  Dylan

  "Dylan," I hear someone say. "Get your ass out of my bed."

  I open my eyes and see Kevin at his closet, taking a t-shirt off the hanger.

  "What time is it?" I ask.

  "Six. I just got off work. I'm freaking tired. I need to get some sleep so get the hell off my bed."

  Noticing Amber isn't beside me, I bolt up. "Where is she?"

  "Who?" Kevin sighs. "Shit. Did you fuck some girl in my bed?"

  I get up and race to the bathroom. She's not there.

  "Why is everyone always using my room?" Kevin asks as he walks past me into the bathroom. "There are plenty of other rooms in this house."

  "Did you tell her to leave?" I ask.

  He takes his work shirt off. "Close the door. I gotta shower."

  "Did you see her leave or not?"

  He yawns. "Dude, I didn't see any girl. When I got here you were alone. She obviously took off."

  "Shit!" I race back to the bed, frantically searching the nightstand to see if she left me a note. But there's nothing there. No note. No number. Nothing. I check my phone just in case she put her number in it, but it's not there.

  I don't even know her last name. I can't even look her up. Shit!

  "Was this one of your groupies?" Kevin asks, coming back in the room to get his phone from his desk.

  "No. She didn't know I was in a band. She didn't even know who I was."

  The band I'm in is just a local band but we play a lot so we're pretty well known around Chicago. We get a lot of attention from girls, especially because of Austin, who plays lead guitar. He's the youngest of the Wheeler brothers, and every girl wants to date a Wheeler. Austin's the only single one left so girls come to our concerts just to see if he'll go out with them.